The moon was beaten high and pale,
Whipped stiff against the velvet air,
A pale, translucent, ivory sail
Adrift upon the midnight stair.
Beneath the glass of dreaming space,
A clockwork jungle whispered low,
Where crescent moons of yellow grace
Unpeeled their skins of liquid glow.
And anchored deep in velvet loam,
A cratered crust of charcoal stone
Held shadows in a quiet home,
A heavy, subterranean throne.
Into the dark, the rivers pour—
A tide of silk, a bittersweet
And ancient tide from some far shore
Where earth and heavy shadows meet.
No fork disturbs the quiet tide,
No human breath disturbs the dream;
Just time and memory, side by side,
Drowning in the heavy cream.
About the Creator
Forest Green
Hi. I am a writer with some years of experiences, although I am still working out the progress in my work. I make different types of stories that I hope many will enjoy.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.